The Flood Tide

The weather was fair and bright on Monday with a fifteen-knot northwest breeze, and I decided it was a good day to go. I made a late morning visit to the Belknap house on Silver Street and Jeremy had the mail collected into a waterproof sack and ready to go. I did my best to exude confidence in the mission but truthfully, I was apprehensive. “And here’s the other bag,” he said as I was leaving. He handed me a much smaller and better wrapped package. “It’s the military post. Not much but it wouldn’t help the war effort if it fell into British hands. So, if you get boarded by them, give up the Post bag and hopefully they won’t look for more.” “What kind of ‘military post’ is this?” I asked. I really hadn’t expected anything sensitive on this first journey. “Letting the leaders in Boston know that New Hampshire is preparing to raise another two Regiments in the spring. Nothing tactical. But it might affect their strategic plans if they knew we were going to reinforce upper New York. At least that’s the plan. And I’ve already told you too much. Go now. And for all our sakes be careful!” He grasped my hand warmly and for a moment I was afraid he might actually embrace me. I took my leave with a quick nod and headed back home and to Smuttynose. Bess had prepared some food for that night and for my journey the next day from the Shoals to Boston. And ever the pessimist, she included another day’s supplies in case I had to lay over a night on the way. I would not have thought of that. She insisted I take my heavier coat, a minor consideration to which I later owed my life. We ate a quick silent bowl of hot soup, and as the sun passed the South mark on the windowsill, I Ioaded my supplies. With a cheerful wave I tossed lines, and got underway to ride the ebb downriver. There is that moment on every journey when your focus abruptly shifts from the leaving to the going. Sometimes thoughts linger on the goodbyes for miles, and other times as soon as the gaze shifts ahead, so do the thoughts. That day it was the latter. By the time I reached Royalls Cove I was far, far into my journey and the familiar landmarks seemed foreign. This voyage would challenge me much more than I had let on to my loved ones. Smuttynose and I romped downriver making almost five knots through the water and nine over the bottom as the tide lifted us on the way. I hugged the Newington side and threw a wave toward Master Knight whom I hoped was sitting on his porch watching the River and playing with his grandchildren. Past Boiling Rock, past Spinney Creek, through the turns in the River above Portsmouth, a turn to port abeam of Badger Island, then a wave at the folks at Strawberry Bank who would assume I was just out for a pleasant late season outing. Another swing to starboard as I passed Pierce and a whoosh as I shot past Pull and Be Damned Point. Then straightaway past Newcastle. As I made the last course change to starboard and passed Fort William and Mary, I gave a wave and a salute to the brave boys manning the fort and keeping an eye out for any of General Howe’s ships sneaking down from Halifax. The open Atlantic lay before me. I had been here many times, and made many day cruises to the Shoals, but somehow this time the ocean seemed bigger. The Shoals lay clear in the bright sun, six miles ahead, bearing south-southwest on Jeremy’s little magnetic compass. Even they seemed far away. Smuttynose felt the gentle swell coming from the northeast. It was a long period swell and didn’t really fight with the northwest seas that would build as I got further from shore. She rolled a bit, as I was running with the wind but it was not unpleasant. The temperature dropped noticeably as I left the shore and its warm air behind me. A clean smell of salt filled the air. An hour later I rounded up in Gosport Harbor and dropped my anchor. I had feared I would be exposed to the Northwest breeze through the night, but the wind had both dropped and clocked around further north so Smuttynose Island provided a good lee for my own Smuttynose. The Isles of Shoals were originally called Smith’s Isles after being ‘discovered’ during the voyages of Captain John Smith. The seven islands have been a haven for fishermen and loners for longer than English settlement had been on the mainland. During summer more than six hundred people fish conduct the fishing trade, catching and processing, then drying and shipping their catch. Even over winter there could be several hundred. The islands are also a wonderful destination for day trips by boat on hot summer days. The harbor abounds with fish and lobster and the shore is easily accessible for children wishing to explore. I had no desire to explore, however. It was late afternoon and soon the sun would set over the hump of Star Island. I ate some venison jerky and bread, drank some cool water, and rolled up in a blanket on deck beside the cockpit as the last of the daylight faded and the sky became a brilliant wash of winter stars.